


a moment after

by werealldreaming



Category: Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Referenced Alcohol, idk that's it? that's the fic, kaladin punches someone (it's moash)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24692335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/werealldreaming/pseuds/werealldreaming
Summary: Kaladin's not sure what he's expecting to see when he opens the door, but whatever it is, it's not Moash, flushed and far more unkempt than he had once been used to.
Relationships: Kaladin/Renarin Kholin
Comments: 16
Kudos: 40





	a moment after

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chirichiri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chirichiri/gifts).



> chiri-chiri (@greatshell-rider) prompted me on tumblr to write "kaladin + fistfight" about ten years ago so that's what this is
> 
> warning for referenced alcohol use and depictions of physical violence

Kaladin's not sure what he's expecting to see when he opens the door, but whatever it is, it's not Moash, flushed and far more unkempt than he had once been used to.

He's holding a bottle of something Kaladin can't identify, and when he says, "Kaladin," it comes out slurred.

"What are you doing here?" Kaladin demands, not even trying to act calm. "Get out."

"I wanted to..." Moash frowns. "I was..."

"I don't care. Leave. You're not supposed to be here." Kaladin tries to take a deep breath, but he knows it's useless. He's reeling--there's no reason this should be happening. He hasn't spoken to Moash in months, not since everything went down. He doesn't want to do this.

There are footsteps behind him, and Renarin puts a hand on his shoulder. "What's—oh."

Moash looks up, and it seems to take him a moment to recognize Renarin. He scowls. "You're still hanging around him?" he asks, and his voice is twisted with rage. "Storms, Kaladin, I thought you were better than that."

"Renarin's better than you ever will be."

"You're just a storming bootlicker," Moash snaps, and there’s almost a look of _betrayal_ in his eyes that Kaladin refuses to acknowledge. "He's been handed everything on a silver platter since _birth_ , Kaladin, you know that. We're nothing like him. Don't fucking delude yourself."

Kaladin doesn't think. He just moves, grabbing Moash's collar and slamming his fist into his nose. Moash cries out, and drops the bottle he's holding, and Kaladin can feel his nose _crunch_ beneath his knuckles. Behind him, he thinks Renarin gasps. He can't be sure. He can't focus on anything besides the rage bubbling up in his chest.

"Don't you _dare_ talk about Renarin like that," he snarls.

Moash doesn't reply. He wrenches himself free and tries to throw his own punch, but it's uncoordinated and easy to catch. Kaladin shoves him back into the hallway and slams him into the wall, fully prepared to keep fighting. He’d always been better at it than Moash, even when he wasn’t drunk and barely coherent.

But Renarin steps forward and places a hand on his shoulder, and Kaladin forces himself to step back and unclench his fists, breathing hard.

"You should go," Renarin says, voice soft and surprisingly steady. Or perhaps not—he doesn’t have the same history with Moash that Kaladin does. "You're going to cause a commotion."

Moash scowls, and for a moment it doesn't look like he'll leave. Kaladin glares, and finally, he spits another curse at the two of them and disappears down the hallway. Kaladin doesn't move, just stares into the empty hall after him. The adrenaline rush is quickly fading, filling his head with a vague static that overtakes everything.

He's nudged aside by Renarin, who picks up the bottle Moash had dropped in one hand, and uses the other to tug Kaladin back into the apartment. He's guided to the couch, where he drops and places his head into his hands. Renarin disappears for a moment, presumably to lock the apartment door, or maybe to throw away the alcohol. He’s not sure. He can’t seem to figure out how to ask.

After a moment, he reappears, kneeling on the ground in front of Kaladin.

"Hey."

Kaladin doesn’t move his head from his hands. "Sorry," he says quietly. “I’m—”

"You don't have to apologize," Renarin says. "It's okay."

Kaladin just shakes his head. He runs his thumb across his knuckles, which are red and are likely to bruise later, feeling the ache. He doesn't know how to explain any of it to Renarin, who even now doesn't know the extent of how low he'd gotten with Moash. He remembers what he’d said— _storming bootlicker_ —and wishes he could just erase the last ten minutes.

Renarin tugs his hands away from each other, holding onto his left so Kaladin can't bring them together again. "Don't do that."

"Sorry," Kaladin says again. He probably should have guessed that Renarin would recognize what he was doing. "You shouldn't have to—” he makes a sweeping gesture with his free hand.

"Neither should you."

Kaladin frowns, because—that’s not what he'd meant, not really. But he can't find the words to argue, to explain why it's worse that Moash had targeted Renarin instead of Kaladin, had used Renarin to try and tear down Kaladin.

Because he's used to Moash's usual tactics, used to the bitter hurt that rises up when he hits his old insecurities. This is new, and it creates an unfamiliar monster that he doesn't know how to deal with.

"It's fine," he says instead, only half a lie. He may not have encountered this before, but he _does_ know how to handle the general self-deprecating thoughts that experiences with Moash bring up. "He's gone now."

"Yeah." Renarin fidgets absently, flicking his fingers into open air. He looks uncertain, unsure how to proceed. 

Kaladin can feel the last dregs of his rage slipping away, to be replaced by an exhaustion that he knows will settle in his chest and leave him utterly drained. It’s already there, if he’s honest—the anger and the adrenaline have done him no favors.

He sighs. Thinks of everything he'd planned to do that evening, the little tasks he'd wanted to finish up. Thinks of trying to complete them anyway, then thinks of how he's been trying to communicate his needs more, and asks, “Do you want to go to bed early tonight?”

Renarin glances up at him, surprised. Kaladin doesn’t do that often, too often neglecting sleep in favor of working himself into exhaustion, and he knows that Renarin won’t say no.

Sure enough, he nods, and pushes himself to his feet, then pulls Kaladin up from the couch. “Is your hand okay?” he asks as they head into the room.

“Yeah,” Kaladin says. “It’ll probably bruise, but I didn’t hit him that hard. Not worth it.”

Renarin laughs. “That’s good.”

He reaches out, pulling Kaladin into his arms. Kaladin curls up slightly, shifting them both so they’re comfortably under their blankets, and lets himself relax.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on [tumblr](https://ternaryflower53.tumblr.com)
> 
> please leave a comment if you're so inclined!


End file.
